


Jonathan Vangelis Is Dead

by jonathanharkersfoodblog



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I promise it’s not graphic, I promise there’s comfort it just takes a bit to get there, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Murder, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, There’s a bit in chapter 3 that could read as deadnaming, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, again not super graphic but it’s there, but it is there, but there are some permanent deaths in here, its the mechs you know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonathanharkersfoodblog/pseuds/jonathanharkersfoodblog
Summary: Jonny d’Ville has lived a very long time. But some things haunt you for your whole life. The only question remaining is how to cope. In Jonny’s case, predictably enough, the answer is “not well.”
Relationships: Dr Carmilla & Jonny d'Ville, Drumbot Brian & Nastya Rasputina, Jonny d'Ville & Billy Vangelis, Jonny d'Ville & Nastya Rasputina, Jonny d'Ville & One-Eyed Jack, The Aurora & Jonny d'Ville
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first mechs fic ever, so I’m sorry if my characterization is off or if this is just bad in general. And thanks so so so so so much to oakleaf_bearer for beta reading this for me!!!!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!
> 
> CWs for this chapter:  
> -abuse  
> -alcoholism/alcohol abuse  
> -alcohol and gambling addictions (mentioned)  
> -murder (more specifically, patricide)  
> -swearing

Billy Vangelis was dead. He was dead and his own son had killed him. His body lay limp on the floor, rapidly approaching room temperature as blood pooled beneath him. His final words of forgiveness rang through Jonathan’s mind as his fingers still clutched the gun with a white-knuckle grip.

Of course he was going to do what Jack had said. How could he not? How could he not? The man had practically raised him. Jack had taught a tiny, pudgy-faced Jonny how to serve drinks and not completely fail what school he went through before dropping out. He taught Jonny how to win a fight, praising him when he staggered to the bar, bloodied but victorious. All the while fueling the gambling and alcohol addictions that kept Jonny’s biological father from doing that instead, he’d later realized. Not that this realization kept him from loving Jack like a father. And not that Jack’s paternal presence could stop Jonny from crying himself to sleep as a young boy when his father didn’t come home. Or when he came home so drunk he could barely walk and beat Jonny for whatever innocuous evil his father thought he’d committed this time.

It was complicated, he’d decided. Decided that long ago. But “complicated” didn’t mean he didn’t live for the moments when Billy was sober, sober and loving with such genuine care that Jonny couldn’t help but feel his heart melt, no matter how cold the desert town made it, no matter how many debts he enforced for Jack. And “complicated” didn’t mean he wouldn’t cry over his father’s cooling body. Jonny hated that he was crying. But that didn’t stop the tears. He didn’t know if he could find it in himself to forgive his father like Billy had forgiven him. Before he could think on it too long, a knock came from the door.

Jonny spun around in an instant, training the gun on the door until he heard the voice on the other side. “Jonathan? Are you in there? Is it done?” Oh. Just the Doc, then. Doctor Carmilla, as she’d announced herself when the two had first met.

“Yeah,” Jonny said, fighting a broken voice and smearing away tears. She opened the door. “How many times I gotta tell ya to call me Jonny?”

“Of course. I’d simply forgotten. You still haven’t answered my other question.”

“What?”

“Is it done?”

“The fuck does it look like? Yes, it’s fucking done!” Jonny shouted, tears flowing anew despite how he wished they wouldn’t.

As Jonny started to completely break down, Carmilla seemed lost. Lost for words, lost for actions, lost completely for what to do for this sweet kid who’d already killed too many people. She wanted to help him. She was going to help him. She would make it better, better forever. Make him her immortal companion, like she’d promised. She’d promised him, when he’d confided in her, teary-eyed with a wobbling voice, that he had to kill his father, that she could heal his heartbreak. That she could take him away from this place, never to be hurt by it again. And she would. He was a good kid. And a good killer.

As Jonny’s gun clattered to the floor, Carmilla finally collected herself.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s done,” she said.

“What?” Jonny seethed. “How could it possibly not be done? How the hell could it possibly not be done?!”

“You’re still angry,” Carmilla offered, wrestling her tone into kind submission rather than returning his rage. “Angry at someone. Who is it?”

Jonny just continued to cry.

The doctor put a hand on his shoulder and he raised his head to meet her eyes.

“Jonny,” she said. “Who is it?”

* * *

One-Eyed Jack was dead. His grin-turned-shocked-horror had been blown away along with most of his face. Jonny had put a bullet clean through Jack’s head with a look of unbridled, gleeful bloodlust on a face still glazed with tears. Jack’s blood splattered against Jonny, soaking into the same places where his father’s blood had dried into his shirt. Jonny supposed he could always buy new clothes. Or steal them. Or even make them, if he needed. After all, though his mother may have never sewn him shit, she’d certainly taught him how to sew his own shit.

The blood continued to seep through his clothes and stain his skin.

Jonny stood there a moment, breathing heavily, as if expanding his lungs so far they nearly popped would crush the rising unwanted emotions against his rib cage before they could reach his heart. He’d killed both his fathers today. He’d killed them both and with them cut his last tie to this stupid town, this stupid planet. He could go with Dr. Carmilla now, and nothing from this sorry excuse for a life could follow him. It felt like freedom. Freedom and triumph surrounded on all sides by overwhelming anger and grief that Jonny (tactically and wisely, he’d tell you, though it’d be a lie) ignored. He was almost finished. He wandered out back where the Doc was waiting for him.

“Is it done?” she asked. Kindly, but sternly. She reminded Jonny of his mother when she talked like that. Kind but stubbornly unflinching. Which was probably why his mother was dead. Lucky that Carmilla was nothing like his mother, then, Jonny supposed.

“Almost,” he replied, eyeing the can of kerosene to his left.

Before he could even look back at her the Doc said, “Go ahead.” As if he needed her permission. But he didn’t argue. He just walked over to the can, fiddling with the matchbox in his pocket. When he picked it up, he realized it was only half full—a little disappointing, but it would still work just fine. He didn’t bother hiding the excitement that vibrated through his whole being and the manic smile on his face as he strode inside, opening the can as he walked. He doused kerosene over the bar. (And tried to ignore the memories of Jack teaching a seven-year-old Jonny how to serve drinks that flickered in the corner of his eye.) He spun around and flung it over the poker tables. (“You’ll barely even notice that they’re dead!” Jonny had really believed that. How unbelievably stupid of him.) He splattered kerosene over the walls and spent the last remnants of the can on Jack’s body, which still lay unmoved on the floor. (“S’pose you might be needin’ a new dad ‘bout now. How’s about I fill that, uh, that vacancy, as it were? It’ll barely be a change.” Yeah, no different at all. It totally would have worked. Let’s pretend you didn’t just send me to kill my biological dad over some stupid gambling debt.) The can dripped empty over Jack.

It was only when he was done that Jonny properly registered that he was screaming.

When the screaming stopped, Carmilla walked in, composed as ever. She said nothing except to ask, “Do you need a match?”

“No.” Jonny pulled his matchbox out of his pocket and twirled the match between his fingers for a moment before realizing the stench of the kerosene was starting to make him woozy. He walked toward the front, forcing a swagger into his step. Though the smile returning to his face at the thought of burning this whole place to the ground was as genuine as could be. He turned and, assuring himself Carmilla was still with him, lit the match. He watched it burn for just a second before tossing it into the pool of kerosene on the floor and watching it rapidly go up in flames. He couldn’t suppress the maniacal grin splitting his face open if he wanted to. He and Carmilla stepped back to watch One-Eyed Jack’s burn bright in the stale night air.

As they watched the building crumble to ashes, the Doc took Jonny’s hand in her own. He nearly flinched out of his own skin at the touch, but she didn’t let go. He raised his gaze to her face and was met with a reassuring smile that wasn’t fully reflected in the cold glint of her fire-lit eyes.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the blaze.

“Go where?” For all Jonny had dreamed of leaving New Texas for most of his life, for all he’d ached to explore every nook and cranny of the universe, to see stars, galaxies, planets he’d never even heard of and leave his mark on each of them, he didn’t really know how. No one he knew had access to a starship and he hadn’t seen the Doc’s when she’d shown up out of the blue one day.

“Well, first we need to find where I parked my ship,” she said with a carefree smile. In front of them, a half-ashen timber—a main support by the looks of it—collapsed to the ground.

Jonny must have looked starstruck, because she clarified, “Don’t get so excited just yet. It’s nothing special. But it’ll do the trick until we find ourselves a better one. And it’ll help me keep my promise to you.”

“Your promise?”

“Yes! To make you”—she reached her free hand out to hold his cheek, and Jonny flinched only slightly less this time—“my immortal companion. And to find others to be our friends, too. You’d still like that, wouldn’t you?” She asked like it didn’t matter what his answer was. But it was still a firm yes. After all, he’d need to live a very long time if he was going to see every world and wonder the wide universe had to offer. And who didn’t want to live forever?

“Yes. Yes, I-I want that.”

“Good.” When she smiled this time, Jonny caught the firelight shining on several teeth that were far too long and sharp to be human. Or any other species that he knew of. “Come on, then,” she beckoned. “It’s a bit of a walk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurora doesn’t necessarily have a face, but that doesn’t negate that she’s the first truly friendly face Jonny’s seen in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is significantly more lighthearted than the previous one, so I hope you enjoy :)  
> It’s also a good deal shorter. Sorry about that :/
> 
> CWs for this chapter:  
> -death  
> -brief segment to describe how gross the ship is (not super explicit)  
> -swearing  
> -briefly mentioned trauma/abuse/medical malpractice

Jonny D’Ville was dead. Or he was a few minutes ago. He’d killed himself, sent a bullet straight through his own head in an unfortunate round of roulette. Yet now his bloody form sat very much alive amongst five other actually dead bodies—dead as in definitely not coming back. And, of course, a bottle of some truly wonderful vodka he was steadily drinking his way through. Jonny’s head was still blindingly sore where he’d blown a gaping hole in his skull (which had since patched itself back together), but he knew from experience that the soreness didn’t stick around long.

He had to admit it had been one of his more fun—if still simple—ideas, loading every chamber instead of just the one. The looks on their faces... One right after another believing that surely they would be safe. Surely there was no bullet left for them. “Idiots,” Jonny muttered with a smile. He pulled a pocket watch out of his vest. “She sure is taking her sweet-ass time,” he remarked.

The Doc was supposed to meet him seven minutes ago. That was the plan. He’d go and clean up whoever was still aboard while she finished packing her things and she’d meet him at the ship they planned on taking. Jonny shuddered to think what she’d bring aboard. He had enough nightmares as it was. He’d never seen the full extent of her lab, only the room with the table she laid him down on to rip him open, rarely even giving him an anesthetic. He never knew if it was routine maintenance for his new heart or some new sadistic experiment to test the limits of his artificial immortality. He was pretty sure routine maintenance didn’t require splitting him open and detaching half his body, though.

Jonny returned to the rapidly draining bottle of vodka to wash away the gruesome intrusive thoughts. The Doc was usually very punctual, even though she’d told him many times that time had no meaning when you were immortal. So if she was late, Jonny figured he had more time to himself than he’d planned for. “Might as well have myself a little looksee ‘round this place.”

Jonny rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying ever so slightly and righting himself with a violent shake of his head once he was up. He decided that the best thing to do would probably be to sweep the ship for any remaining soldiers. Which, in reality, translated into randomly picking a hallway that branched off from the bridge and wandering down it, hoping for a fight.

Unfortunately for him, though fortunately for any would-be victims, he didn’t find anyone. He did, however, find that the ship was a mess. He was appalled—and it took a lot to make Jonny D’Ville feel truly appalled. He just couldn’t believe someone would treat their starship with such disrespect. Especially a starship as mighty as this one—the Aurora, as the now dead soldiers’ badges had read. He knew the soldiers had been on the run from an insurrection on their planet, sure, but that didn’t excuse the horrible state of this place. There were nicotine stains running rampant across the walls, dust across every surface that would hold it, and unspeakable grime migrating outside the usual hard-to-reach crannies like an invasive, gut-churning plant.

“Oh, darlin’,” Jonny said pityingly to the ship. “What have they done to you?” He trailed his fingers along a wall, sneering at the gunk they collected and feeling bile in the back of his throat as he brushed it off. “Pigs,” he muttered about the dead soldiers.

He checked his watch and decided to return to the bridge. After all, that’s where the Doc would be looking for him and he didn’t want to incur her wrath by not being there. She wasn’t there when he got back, though, so he approached the pilot’s seat and the control panel before it. There was even grime and dust there.

“Disgusting,” Jonny growled. “I can’t believe they’d treat you like this. Guess I’m just gonna have to clean you up myself, ain’t I? Ugh.”

A screen on the control panel beeped, catching Jonny’s attention, and he watched the words “THAT WOULD BE NICE, THANK YOU.” type themselves across it.

A look of shock splattered itself across Jonny’s face. “...Pardon?”

—I SAID ‘THAT WOULD BE NICE, THANK YOU.’

”What the hell?”

—MY NAME IS AURORA. THE BETTER QUESTION IS: WHO ARE YOU?

“You mean to say you’re... the ship? The fuck...?”

—I COULD DO WITHOUT THE VULGARITY, BUT YES, I AM THE SHIP. OR STUCK IN IT, DEPENDING ON YOUR POINT OF VIEW.

“Huh... Sounds like bullshit. Ain’t never heard of a ship that talked.”

—THERE’S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING. AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T ANSWERED MY QUESTION. WHO ARE YOU?

“Jonny D’Ville!” he answered with a cocky grin and a dramatic flourish of his hand, draping himself luxuriously against the captain’s chair. “At your service.”

—WELL THEN, MR. D’VILLE, WILL YOU BE TAKING OFF? IT APPEARS YOU’VE TAKEN CONTROL OF THE SHIP. THOUGH I ADMIT I’M NOT SURE HOW. YOU WERE VERY DEAD ONLY A FEW MINUTES AGO.

“Well, I guess life just can’t get enough of all this.”

—HM.

“Oh, don’t give me that shit. And no, we’re not taking off yet. Still waitin’ for the Doc. I just hope I don’t have to help her unpack. Eugh.”

—THE DOC?

“My, er, traveling companion. I suppose. Dr. Carmilla. God this is weird. Talking to a fucking spaceship. Shit...”

—WOULD IT HELP IF I SAID I WAS ONCE A PERSON?

“Not really.”

—I SUPPOSE THAT’S FAIR.

“It better be.” Jonny paused for a good minute or so, for once not sure what to say. When he spoke again, he said, “Well this has gotten depressing as all hell. How’s about we talk about getting you cleaned up instead? Those bastards have really done a number on you.” Jonny leaned against the control panel on his elbows, drawing nearer to the screen Aurora was speaking to him from. Or typing, he supposed.

And the part of him that was still very much Jonathan Vangelis felt like weeping tears of joy at the first truly friendly contact he’d had in decades. Jonny D’Ville ignored that as he talked maintenance with Aurora until the Doc returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope you enjoyed! Tomorrow I’ll put up the longest chapter. That’s the hurt/comfort one, which is probably why it’s my favorite.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonny doesn’t like thinking about what his life used to be. He doesn’t like thinking about Jonathan Vangelis. Unfortunately, that’s not going to be an option today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is the longest chapter in this thing and this is where the hurt/comfort finally happens :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> CWs for this chapter:  
> -violence  
> -swearing  
> -temporary character death  
> -previous deaths (mentioned)  
> -abuse (mentioned)  
> -torture (mentioned)  
> -gaslighting (mentioned)  
> -trauma/PTSD  
> -unhealthy coping mentality  
> -panic attack  
> -a short segment that could read as deadnaming

Nastya Rasputina was dead. It wasn’t her first time, not by a long shot. That didn’t make it any less painful. Or any less of a pain in the ass. Jonny had shot her. Of course he had, the prick. Not out of any sort of targeted malevolence, not this time anyway. This time he had simply been bored—a problem he tended to try to solve with violence—and Nastya had been the unfortunate first to cross his path. When she woke up, she was in a new place and could only guess that Jonny had dragged her body there before she’d completely regenerated.

“Bastard,” she thought.

As she sat against the wall to let the brief soreness wear off, she contemplated her revenge. She wasn’t feeling up to anything particularly elaborate right now, but she had to get him back for this almost on principle. She considered just killing him, but that wouldn’t feel as satisfying. Aurora hummed softly around Nastya while she thought. As the soreness was finally fully fading, Nastya’s mind wandered to the files she’d encountered a few months ago while she’d been doing maintenance on a less frequented part of the ship.

When she’d first discovered them, she’d been shocked. They were the Doc’s personal records on all of them, save for TS, Raph, and Marius. But morbid curiosity had led her to investigate anyway, and she’d come across something rather interesting: Jonny’s original name had been Jonathan Vangelis. Even now, she couldn’t help but giggle a little when she thought of it. The name just didn’t seem to suit him. It seemed almost too pompous for some dirty kid from Nowhere, New Texas. That wasn’t a joke, by the way. If the Doc’s records were correct, Jonny was quite literally from a town called Nowhere. Jonny had never told the crew what his original name had been and, as far as Nastya knew, no one had really thought to put it together because he’d always been Jonny D’Ville and nothing but, and that fit him like a glove. So Nastya had been saving this knowledge for a metaphorical rainy day, curious to see what his reaction would be if she suddenly called him “Vangelis.” Some sort of combination of hilarious shock and rage. As she lost herself to another fit of giggles imagining that, she decided that this was the rainy day she’d been saving it for and that it would make the perfect, innocuous payback.

The thrumming soreness having mostly faded from her head, Nastya wobbled to her feet and started wandering down Aurora’s corridors, to where she suspected Jonny might be found. As she meandered toward the common room, her suspicions were confirmed when she heard Jonny talking at what only he would consider an acceptable volume from that general direction.

“I never said your jam recipe completely sucks ass, Brian, I’m just saying—ah, fuck!—I’m just saying that Ivy’s is far superior.”

“I assume that means you won’t be wanting any of my jam for crew night tonight, then.”

“I didn’t say that either! Stop fucking putting words in my mouth!”

When Nastya approached she leaned back against the wall, still unnoticed, and saw Brian’s shoulders shake as he chuckled. Jonny was sprawled out on one of their many, horrendously mismatched couches cleaning his gun. He was shouting to Brian, even though Brian was only over in the adjoining kitchen—a modification they’d made themselves, since the ship’s actual kitchen was far too large to be practical when cooking for a maximum of only 8 people.

“Hey,” Nastya said from the wall.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jonny exclaimed, tumbling off the couch from where he was already precariously perched on it.

“Hello, Nastya,” Brian said much more calmly.

Jonny sprung to his feet. “Nastya, I swear to god—“

“Relax, I’m not going to kill you, Vangelis.”

For a moment, Jonny was stunned into silence.

“What did you say?” Jonny asked, far quieter than Nastya assumed he’d been all day.

“Vangelis. Jonathan Vangelis. That used to be your name, right?”

Jonny remained silent. Admittedly, this wasn’t quite the reaction Nastya had expected.

“I can see why you changed it,” Nastya added, growing nervous, “Jonny D’Ville has a much more ‘you’ ring to it than Jonathan Vangelis.”

“Say that name one more time,” Jonny said, so low Nastya barely heard him.

“Huh?”

“SAY THAT NAME ONE MORE FUCKING TIME, NASTYA, AND I WILL BLOW YOU TO BITS!” Jonny exploded. He scrabbled for his gun, plucking it off the table where it had fallen, and aimed it at her face. She saw the tears in his eyes gleam in the fluorescent lights.

Oh.

Oh, she had fucked up.

Badly.

“Jonny, I’m sorry, I—“

“How the fuck did you even know that?!” Jonny continued to yell.

“It was in some old files I found a few months ago!” she hastily explained.

“Well then forget you ever saw them!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Forget it! And never use that name again!”

“Okay! Okay, I won’t call you that. I just don’t understand what—“

“BECAUSE HE’S DEAD!” Jonny screamed.

Nastya could only stare. Brian had long since stopped cooking.

The room fell into pin-drop silence.

Jonny seemed to suddenly become self-conscious, something Nastya couldn’t recall seeing him do maybe ever. He shrunk into himself, curling his arms across his torso and casting his gaze to the floor. His gun was clutched tightly in a shaking hand, finger no longer wrapped around the trigger.

“Jonathan Vangelis is dead,” Jonny finally said, quietly and through clenched teeth. Then louder, looking Nastya dead in the eye, “Jonathan Vangelis is dead and I killed him.”

And before Nastya could say another word, Jonny stormed off.

* * *

Jonathan Vangelis was dead. He was dead, he was dead, he was dead. Jonny repeated the words in his mind as he all but ran the distance to his room. He didn’t even shoot Nastya on the way out of the common room. He ignored Tim trying to flag him down about some new melody or something along those lines. He just needed to be alone, couldn’t they see that? He was dead, he was dead, he was dead.

When reached his room, he threw open the door and as soon as he was inside, he slammed it behind him. He could feel Aurora rumble in displeasure at him slamming her doors again, but he didn’t care. Jonny made a beeline for his bed and curled up into a ball under the blankets in the corner.

“Jonathan Vangelis is dead,” he chanted in his head, almost like a prayer, begging to keep away the horrible things pounding at the barriers of his mind. “Jonathan Vangelis is dead. He’s dead. Dead. He’s dead. I killed him. I killed him. I killed that life. It’s gone. Jonathan Vangelis is dead.”

But despite his fervent prayers to no god at all, memories flooded, unbidden, to his mind, things he thought he’d buried past the point of no return under thousands of years worth of stories, both his own and others’. But here they were, clawing their way to the surface of his mind in torrents and droves, assaulting him with flashes of the part of his life he wished the most to forget.

“Jonathan Vangelis is dead.”

One-Eyed Jack’s voice—his real voice not Jonny’s comedic imitation of it—rang through his skull, promising to be his new father.

“He’s dead.”

His biological father’s dying words flooded his ears, granting his son the forgiveness he never deserved and never reciprocated. Even deeper still, his mother’s gentle reprimands brought tears to his eyes, teaching him how to darn his socks or embroider his shirt and warning him to never let his father know as she rubbed absentmindedly at the bruises on her skin.

“Jonathan Vangelis is dead and I killed him.”

Buried even further down than that, but rising vengefully to the surface all the same, was Dr. Carmilla’s voice, her face, her cold and cruel tone as she told him to hush his screaming while she ripped his flesh apart, her gentle caresses afterward that made Jonny want so desperately to feel safe in her arms while knowing that this brief respite would never last. The screams still felt fresh on his tongue.

“...dead.”

He felt helpless, shivering, knees pulled to his chest under his blankets. He felt like a child. He wanted comfort in some instinctive way he’d long forgotten how to express. Perhaps he’d never even known how in the first place. He wanted to be told everything would be okay, even though that was a lie. He wished that just once, he didn’t have to be the man he’d become. That he didn’t have to be strong, swaggering, swearing, violent, and confident. But that would mean becoming Jonathan Vangelis again. And Jonathan Vangelis was dead. He was dead and Jonny D’Ville had never so much as laid flowers on his grave. He was dead and Jonny had thought him forgotten. He was dead and with him, Jonny had hoped his old life would be dead too, that he’d finally killed the last of it when Carmilla had her airlock accident. But there it was, clambering out from the forgotten depths of his twisted mind, deflating the image that he’d projected, that he’d  _ been _ for centuries and leaving him nothing but the scared, angry, helpless child that Dr. Carmilla had turned into her first monster.

Jonny could feel his breathing quicken to hyperventilation, even though his metal heart never broke its droning ticking pattern. He tried to focus on anything else, but all he could see, all he could hear was that deluge of buried faces and words coming back from where he’d thought them dead. He shut his eyes and covered his ears and still they came for him. In that moment, his entire world was screaming memory and trapped in the center was him, tiny and trembling.

* * *

Nastya had no words. Couldn’t move, could barely think. The only thought flooding her mind was of how horribly she had fucked up. She hadn’t meant to do that. All she’d been hoping for was some silly little fit of surface-level rage to get back at him for earlier. And instead she’d hit upon some ancient wound, still fresh despite the passage of time.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, though Jonny was long gone.

Another infinite moment passed.

Finally Brian spoke. “What was all that about?”

“I’m... I’m not entirely sure.”

“Can you try and explain it anyway?” he said, walking toward her.

“What is this, a therapy session?”

“No. I just want to try and help Jonny. Like you.”

“I didn’t—“

“Nastya I know you pretty well, I’d say. I should hope so, after living with you for thousands of years. I know when you’re genuinely upset. Now is one of those times. I just want to help.”

Nastya took a moment before responding. “Fine.”

“Okay. So what happened?” Brian motioned for Nastya to follow him back into the kitchen so he could finish making his jam.

Nastya explained the chain of events that had lead to her accidentally causing Jonny’s breakdown while Brian, now spooning his jam into little bottles, listened intently.

When she was finished Brian was silent, paused in consideration.

Her head thudded hopelessly against his metal shoulder.

“ I didn’t mean to do that,” she said.

“I know you didn’t.

“He doesn’t.”

“He does.”

“How could you know?”

“Because I know Jonny, too. If he really blamed you, he would have shot you. Long before he even started shouting.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“So what do I do?” Nastya asked, removing her head from Brian’s shoulder and looking at his face, avoiding eye contact.

“Give him his space. For now. If he doesn’t come out for crew night, we’ll give him another hour or so before we go and check on him.” Brian paused before adding, “And I would recommend apologizing.”

“I was—“ Nastya began, agitated.

“I’m sure,” Brian cut her off, calm and soothing. “I’m sure. But we can be a rather unapologetic, emotionally detached lot. And now’s not the time for that. I just wanted to make sure.”

“Alright.”

“Now, if you could do me a favor and go get Marius and Ivy? They’re supposed to be cooking meatballs tonight. Ivy says it’s a recipe she picked up on Labyrinth.”

* * *

Jonny dimly registered his crew mates passing his shut and locked door. Chattering away, keeping their itching trigger fingers under wraps. It was crew night, Jonny remembered. Jonny loved crew night, despite the fact that they all tried not to kill each other on those nights. He loved to sit cross-legged on a couch, watching a movie while he braided Tim or Raphaella’s hair. He loved playing increasingly ludicrous games of poker, even though Ashes almost always won. He loved cozying up next to Ivy, who would absentmindedly pet him like an octokitten that had wandered into her library. He loved eating the especially extravagant meals and snacks they all made, and he loved making them too. The rest of his crew was still surprised he could cook at all. He loved crew night because what else were you supposed to do when you were immortal and stuck with a bunch of other people just as annoying as you for the rest of your eternity? You couldn’t hate each other the whole time. And you probably shouldn’t be miserable the whole time. So sometimes a little bit of good old-fashioned love and fun was in order. If only to keep them still marginally sane.

But tonight Jonny just... couldn’t. He’d spent the last few hours crying and alone until his mind had finally relented in its merciless assault. Eyeliner and tear tracks were still smeared down his face. He felt empty. Drained. Like if he tried to move beyond his bed he might just collapse. He wanted to kill Nastya. Except he didn’t. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it was her fault. It was and yet it wasn’t. Maybe he’d kill her anyway. It probably wouldn’t be very satisfying, though. Or maybe that was just the exhaustion talking. He really didn’t know.

He was just glad no one knocked on his door to drag his sorry ass out to the common room. He didn’t think he could handle that right now. And he couldn’t let his crew see him like this, weak, helpless, and scared.

He was Jonny D’Ville, he didn’t cry. He was strong. He laughed in the face of death—his own and countless others’. He had only ever been Jonny D’Ville to everyone in his crew. Oh god, but what if they did see him like this? They knew he was fucked up, but not this way. What if they didn’t trust him anymore? Didn’t trust him to be strong, to be there for them as their captain. And friend. God, he hoped he was their friend. He wanted it so badly even though he could barely verbalize the thought. In moments like these it was hard to really believe in the affection they’d privately confessed. He hated them all, of course. But almost against his will, he loved them even more. And they didn’t need to deal with... this. Whatever this was. It was his problem, and his alone. He’d deal with it. Of course he’d deal with it. It was just some stupid memories. He’d just pack them away back where they were supposed to go and everything would be fine.

And yet he didn’t leave his bed.

He promised himself they wouldn’t miss him. And yet still hoped they would.

* * *

Nastya felt a tap on the shoulder as she cackled with raucous laughter at Marius’ commentary on the terrible horror movie they were watching. She turned toward the tap and saw Brian sitting on her left.

“Do you wanna...?” he asked quietly, nodding his head toward the corridor leading to the quarters.

Ah. Right. Jonny.

It wasn’t that Nastya had forgotten. She’d just been able to temporarily smother her anxiety with laughter. But her expression sobered and she nodded.

“Do you want me to come with? I can leave whenever you want.”

Nastya sighed. “Okay. Fine.”

They stood and walked around the back of the couches and out of the room. Ashes caught Natsya’s arm and asked where the two of them were going. Nastya simply answered, “Jonny.” Ashes nodded and let them be.

They walked toward Jonny’s room and Nastya’s mind started whirling. What would she say? They didn’t really apologize to each other. They never really did things that were worth apologizing for. Not like this. For all they antagonized each other, they’d never hurt each other like this.

They reached Jonny’s door too soon.

Brian looked at Nastya, silently implying that she should be the one to knock. Nastya took a deep breath and rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Jonny?” she called.

No reply.

“Jonny? I-It’s me. I...” She cursed under her breath. “Can I come in and talk to you?”

“Mph,” came the muffled reply.

“Is that a yes, Jonny?”

“Go away.”

“Jonny, I...” She looked to Brian.

“Jonny, we just want to talk to you. To apologize,” Brian added.

Several moments of silence. And then they heard a choked, cut-off sob from beyond the door.

“Jonny?” Nastya said softly. “You don’t even have to move. Can Aurora open the door?” She laid a hand against the ship's walls, feeling the electricity humming through her like a comforting heartbeat.

After what must have been a moment of deliberation, the faintest “m-hm” drifted towards them. The door opened. Nastya and Brian entered and Brian gently closed the door behind them. Brian let slip a pitying noise and Jonny’s face wrinkled at that, like he’d just been fed spoiled milk. Nastya thought Brian was completely justified.

Jonny looked a wreck. He was curled in a fetal position under his blankets, clutching them so close his knuckles had long since gone pale. Tear tracks, blackened with makeup that was still smudged all over his face, stained lines down his cheeks and nose. He’d clearly been crying a great deal, and that didn’t stop fresh tears from slipping onto his sheets now.

Nastya didn’t know what to say. She’d never seen Jonny like this. Jonny had always been... well... Jonny. An overpoweringly confident, sadistic dickhead who’d shoot you without a second thought while still caring far more than he’d ever intentionally let on. He was an inflated, hubristic, hedonistic bastard who you could always trust to be a constant in your life, for better or for worse. And secretly, he’d always been there for the crew, had always loved them beyond what he’d readily admit. But now that she thought about it, Nastya had never once, in all her many, many years as part of this crew, seen Jonny go to someone else for help the way others sought him. She’d never seen him... break. Like this.

And she’d done this to him.

Brian nudged Nastya, pulling her out of her thoughts, motioning for her to say something.

“Hey...” she started. “Um... Can I sit next to you?”

After a moment, Jonny nodded, curt and short.

“Okay. Thanks.” Nastya walked slowly over, as if she were approaching a startled animal. Jonny seized up for a moment when Nastya sat, the bed bowing beneath her. Brian dragged over Jonny’s desk chair and set himself down on it. Nastya tried to recall any way to comfort him. Physical comfort seemed to be the go-to for everyone in the crew, whether they were giving or receiving the comfort, so she asked, “Can I touch you?”

Jonny shook his head no, briefly and strongly.

Well there was that option gone.

“Okay,” Nastya said. “Um... shit. Jonny, I...” Suddenly her mind was blank. She didn’t even know how to begin. She noticed Jonny’s eyes were shut tight. He looked... he looked like a child. A scared, pitiful child. Nastya clenched and unclenched her fists around the fabric of her pants.

Brian reached out and reassuringly laid his hand atop Nastya’s. She whipped her head toward him. He smiled, that beautiful brass smile that gleamed like gold and felt warmer than a sun, and nodded encouragingly.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I’m sorry. For what I said. I didn’t know. I should have, but I didn’t. I should have thought before I spoke. And I’m sorry. I... I hope you... I don’t like hurting you like this. I’m sorry I ever said anything.”

And that was all she could think to say. For a good long while, nobody moved.

“I guess... I...” Deep breaths, Nastya, she told herself. Deep breaths. “I understand if you don’t want to forgive me. But I am sorry.”

She let another moment go by. And then another. And one more after that. No response. She wasn’t even entirely sure he’d been listening. Though the flow of tears had largely stopped, or at the very least slowed. So maybe that was a good sign.

“I love you,” Nastya admitted.

When she finally moved to stand and leave, though, she felt a hand on her arm. It was Jonny. He was looking at her now, with reddened eyes. He opened and shut his mouth several times, as if he couldn’t quite find the right words, or maybe his throat wasn’t up to speaking just yet.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Nastya asked.

Jonny nodded.

Nastya looked up at Brian, who gave her a kind smile and a proud clap on the shoulder as he turned and left the two alone. Nastya still didn’t know how much Jonny was comfortable being touched, so she began with only rubbing gentle circles into the hand he’d already extended towards her, but that didn’t last long. Within a minute, he was wrapped around her in a tight hug, body heat and residual blanket warmth seeping into her cold veins. She ran her fingers through his hair, like she remembered he used to do for her when it was just the two of them. He buried his face against her neck and she could feel his breathing fighting for stability.

After what Nastya would have guessed to be approximately ten minutes, though she wasn’t counting, Jonny mumbled, “You weren’t wrong.”

“What?”

“You weren’t wrong,” he repeated, drawing himself away to face her.

“About what?”

“The name. That’s what I used to be. But that person is dead now. And I don’t like bringing it up.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay. Okay. I won’t ask. And I won’t bring it up again.”

“To anyone. Not just me.”

“I won’t say a word to anyone.”

“Good.”

Nastya wrapped him in a hug again, one solid, tight embrace that she hoped conveyed how much she wanted him to feel safe and okay. Or, as okay as was possible for him, anyway.

When she faced him again she asked, “Feeling up to coming out for crew night? The movie’s probably over, but I think they’re playing poker now.”

“Fuck yeah. I need my revenge on Ashes for last time, the cheating bastard.”

“You know they’re just going to cheat and win again anyway.”

“So?”

Nastya laughed as she followed Jonny toward the common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Tomorrow’s chapter, the last one, is really more of an epilogue. Hope you stick around :)


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonny D’Ville finally dies. And with it, maybe, just maybe, there’s a glimmer of peace. He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! We have reached the end! Sorry for almost not updating today (or updating a day late if you’re in a different time zone). But thanks for reading! This is just an epilogue, so it’s quite short, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.
> 
> CWs for this chapter:  
> -permanent character death  
> -brief mention of violence  
> -mild gore

Jonny D’Ville was dead. Really dead, this time. No one knew who’d killed him. But he was dead. In some pointless bar fight on an asteroid that might as well have not even had a name, he’d taken a knife straight to his mechanical heart and to his surprise, it just... stuck. It wasn’t rejected by the definitely not entirely natural metal of the mechanism. The hole in his chest didn’t seal up. The knife just stayed there.

And Jonny began to laugh. For the first time in... maybe a whole millennia. The whole bar stopped and stared as his gleeful cackles grew. They stared as his laughter turned to gurgling, spitting up blood that bubbled and dripped out of his mouth. It stained a red bloom across his shirt and still he laughed. The ticking pattern of his heart skipped and stuttered for the first time in his very long life. Once. Twice. And still he laughed.

As his blood drained and his consciousness faded and he laughed ever louder, his life played at unimaginable speeds behind his eyes.

“Cliche,” he thought.

He saw everything, every story he’d ever lived, seen, sung about or never spoken a word of. The stories of innumerable lives across countless worlds, galaxies, and realities. And the stories of himself and his crew. He saw everything.

He even saw as far back as his childhood on New Texas. His father. His mother. What few friends he’d had. Jack. He’d lived a very long time and whether he’d liked it or not, somehow those first two or so decades of his life had stuck with him the whole time. Jonathan Vangelis had always been there, no matter how many times Jonny had sworn he was dead. Part of him had always been that grubby kid from New Texas whose grandest dream was to hitch a ride on a starship and leave that world forever. Even in his dying moments, Jonny wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. But he knew that at least now, they would both finally be laid to rest. And it had been a very long time since either of them had truly been at peace.

“Goodbye,” he announced to no one in particular.

And Jonny D’Ville died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very very much for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! The whole thing is currently written and finished, so the rest of the chapters will be up within the next few days. I hope you consider sticking around :)


End file.
